


Alpha Against Alpha(s)

by inazumaghostking



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha America (Hetalia), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Crack, Enemies to Lovers, Family, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentioned France (Hetalia), Mentioned Japan (Hetalia), Omega England (Hetalia), Protective Older Brothers, USUK - Freeform, hastily posting because it's england's bday today and i wanted to do something, sorry it's a bit shit and rushed lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23803837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inazumaghostking/pseuds/inazumaghostking
Summary: When Alfred met Arthur, he didn't expect to be standing at his door with a bouquet of flowers and a question in mind.He certainly didn't expect to be reprimanded by his three older brothers.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 166





	Alpha Against Alpha(s)

**Author's Note:**

> wow, it's been, like, five years since my last usuk fic???? two years since i last posted in general? oof  
> uhh yeah this is hella crack and was written mainly for laughs. i also wanted to post on england's bday (st. george's day) so have a completely unrelated fic!  
> this is unbeta'd and will no doubt have a million mistakes in them. im super sorry

Alfred squinted at himself in the rear mirror, desperately wrestling with the stubborn cowlick that stood front and (off) centre. He had been parked outside a row of student houses for a good handful of minutes, scrutinising and altering himself until he felt satisfied (though at this point, it seemed like he would never get there).

With a final frustrated glide through his hair, Alfred accepted defeat. Surely _one_ imperfection wouldn’t matter, right? Every other ground was covered – polished shoes, brand new slacks, a fresh white dress-shirt (stainless _and_ ironed!), a sleek black tie, and to top it all off, he had even abandoned his signature bomber jacket for a stuffy blazer.

‘ _Yes_ ,’ the alpha thought happily to himself, reaching for the gifts resting on his passenger seat. ‘ _Everything is perfect_.’

Now, Alfred F. Jones wasn’t known for having a sophisticated demeanour – in fact, it was quite the opposite. The man much preferred to don superhero tees and baggy sweatpants wherever he went (much to the chagrin of his Cambridge professors), but today was different.

Today was the day he finally asked Arthur Kirkland out.

So, with a bouquet in hand and a skip in his step, Alfred swiftly made his way to the omega’s accommodation. His heart pounded in his chest. To be quite honest, he never expected himself to be doing this.

He had met the brit during his first history lecture – a mandatory minor, but a welcome one nonetheless. He had almost been late, drenched with sweat and stinking of panic. The whole hall had their eyes on him, some hiding a snicker, but the majority had sent him disapproving looks. This was, after all, their first year at one of England’s top schools, so most still had the bad case of stick-up-the-ass-itis. With a grumble, Alfred had felt shamed into taking the end seat on the front row.

The lecture in itself wasn’t too exciting. It mostly consisted of introductions and small tangents on the importance of the module, but other than that, it was essentially just ice breakers for an hour.

“Get to know the student next to you,” their professor had said, face deadly serious as he brought up a PowerPoint filled with nonsense questions. “They will be your companion for the rest of the year. It is important to have someone you can discuss these topics with as it will widen your perception and understanding of each historical event.”

Alfred’s partner turned out to be Arthur – an omega literary student with a great passion for history – and idiotically believed that they would hit it off as friends. He shouldn’t have, but Alfred had greatly underestimated him in terms of how argumentative the man could be. Most omegas he knew were reserved and preferred to take a step back – his friend back in America, Kiku, being a prime example of this stereotype; the guy in question much preferring to watch from the sidelines and do his own thing.

But, as it turns out, that is all it is: a stereotype; one that Arthur Kirkland practically vowed to disestablish.

The omega was brash – insulting at times – and stood by his interpretations of the various sources. There had been countless times where their class had been forced into silence as they watched the pair argue senselessly. Their professor (who everyone had expected to tire of their rambles) never failed to watch in amusement, sometimes even igniting a debate within the two himself. If they didn’t know any better, he seemed to be quite a fan.

It wasn’t long before they became his star students.

That was basically the first couple months of their relationship; constant back and forth’s for an hour or so, then proceeding to ignore each other’s existence outside the lecture hall. It wasn’t as if they had forgotten each other – oh no, Alfred’s twin has woken up to many text messages about how _particularly irritating Arthur was today_ and _that man is more stubborn than a fucking boulder, no wonder he’s still unmated_.

Matthew had insisted Alfred just had a crush on him; Alfred vehemently denied this.

That is, until the coffee incident.

They had been loudly discussing yet another source, this particular one riling them up more than usual. It was on the topic of the Revolutionary War and, sure, maybe patriotic pride and ego got a bit in the way, but Arthur _had_ been being very unreasonable. They continued bickering after class, pacing around the snowy campus with only their anger and a paper cup to keep them warm.

The brit had been accusing the Americans for overreacting about the Boston Tea Party, saying that it was unnecessary and reckless. Alfred had argued that they needed to make a point, and what better point is there than wasting countless pounds of tea?

Both were animated, completely lost within the dispute and not really paying attention to their steps or surroundings. One miscalculated swing of a hand later and their conversation came to a screeching halt. Alfred’s steaming drink went flying into his chest, both burning his skin and staining his favourite X-Men shirt.

For the record, Alfred did _not_ scream, no matter what witnesses say. He simply – and _silently_ – dove into the icy ground, willing for the cold to ease the pain.

He expected Arthur to laugh and mock at his pathetic display, but instead, the omega had guiltily guided him to a nearby bench. With bare hands, he scooped up some snow to press against the burn, muttering to himself how _if Alfred just_ _had his jacket zipped up this never would’ve happened; what was he even thinking? It’s bloody freezing_.

“My shirt,” he remembered saying after an interminable amount of quiet. “I loved this shirt.”

Arthur had gaped at him incredulously, probably willing himself to not smack the idiot alpha and his stupid priorities. “You literally have a giant _burn_ on your chest, and you’re thinking about your _shirt_?”

“Well, yeah,” he replied. Perhaps he was just overly sensitive at the time (Alfred couldn’t really remember why himself) but he found his face deepening, lips tugging themselves into a pout. “It’s… it’s my favourite…”

The omega cycled through a series of emotions before rolling his eyes and leading the alpha back to the latter’s accommodation. Alfred felt somewhat embarrassed to be treated like a child – by an _omega_ no less – but he decided it would be easier for both of them if he just complied. Arthur had sat him down on the bed and instructed him to strip. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, then he probably would’ve made a joke about that.

Arthur locked himself in the ensuite with the shirt, scrubbing and cursing as Alfred sat frozen on his bed. The cool air hissed against the red splotch, his skin fizzling like static as he forced himself to wait. He didn’t really know what else to do.

An aching amount of time passed before Arthur emerged from the bathroom, slightly damp but triumphant. He presented the other with his shirt, free from a stain and smelling strongly of Vanish. He had looked at Alfred expectantly, waiting for a response or approval or something.

“Uh… why?” Was all he could manage, causing Arthur’s infamously thick brows to furrow. Before he could open his mouth, Alfred interjected with a quick, “I mean, ah, thank you!”

That seemed to soften his scowl a tiny bit. “It’s nothing. I was just… it was my fault anyway, so…”

Arthur trailed off. He turned toward towards the radiator, awkwardly spreading the wet material across it.

“Ah, it’s off.” The brit remarked. “Do you want me to turn it on?”

“It’s fine. It’s on a timer.”

Silence. Alfred should’ve just let him leave. They both stayed at a comfortable distance, looking anywhere that wasn’t each other. A small bit of shame nipped at Al for the state his room was in, but it was drowned within his deafening heartbeats.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, I found this in your medicine cabinet.”

He pulled out some burn ointment – something Mattie had probably forced him to bring – and sat next to him. Alfred became very aware of their situation and couldn’t help but flush a little. Here he was, shirtless on his own bed with a wet, unmated omega in very close proximity.

Had Arthur’s eyes always been this green? They watched him with such caution, such vulnerability that Alfred had never seen before. His mouth dried, heart screaming ever louder.

Alfred felt lost – like a starving man in a forest.

Apparently, Arthur had grown impatient waiting for him to take the medicine. Oily (and slightly raisin-ed) fingers brushed against the burn, causing the alpha to emit a surprised low growl. The other instinctually froze.

In this position, Arthur’s hair was tickling Alfred’s nostrils, overwhelming him with the scent of mint and freshly cut grass. It was strangely addictive. Al caught himself leaning in to take a deeper breath.

Arthur had never smelled this good before.

The smaller man squirmed, continuing to spread the gel. “Don’t growl at me,” he frowned. “If you weren’t being such a wanker then maybe I wouldn’t have to do this.”

And the illusion was broken.

“Me? I wasn’t the one who _knocked a boiling hot drink into my chest_!”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you just agreed that I was right!”

“You think you were _right_? Please. No wonder you limes lost the fucking war.”

They fell back into the same patterns of nipping and biting at each other’s ankles, but something had changed. Usually, there would be more spite – more poison to their words… but there was something awfully tender this time. Alfred had a sneaking suspicion, but he wasn’t ready to give it a name yet.

Arthur didn’t leave until midnight that night.

The soft undertones seemed to linger and mutate long after The Coffee Incident. It was small at first; Alfred started paying for both their drinks whenever their debates ran after class, though he insisted it for convenience and speed. Then, Arthur started to let Alfred peek at his notes whenever the latter couldn’t write everything down in time. During one class, when Alfred forgot his pen, Arthur had offered one of his own despite usually being protective of his collection.

It had been a gradual slope, neither really noticing the changes. Then it slapped them.

“You’re right.” Alfred had said after one particularly heated lesson.

“Of course I’m right – wait… I-I am?”

No one could really believe what he had said. Sure, both of them had been wrong in the past, but it’s not like they would actually admit it to each other, and especially not in front of their entire class.

“What can I say, Artie? When you’re right, you’re right.”

He nonchalantly scribbled a couple words down onto his notebook, forcing himself to turn away from the aghast omega. The class shifted uncomfortably in their seats as their dazed professor hesitantly continued on with the lesson. Everyone moved on, but Arthur couldn’t seem to stop staring.

And that’s how Alfred ended up at the steps of door number 927 with nothing but a bundle of roses and a question dancing on the tip of his tongue. He knocked on the wood with a firm fist, lips pulled back into a nervous grin. Rocking on the balls of his feet, Alfred tried to shake off the adrenaline buzzing through his veins.

He was really going to do this.

His heartbeat flooded his ears as his eyes focused on the mahogany in front of him. The doorknob wriggled and clicked before swinging open to reveal three panting alphas, shoulder to shoulder as they all tried to squeeze through the door frame.

Alfred stumbled back. Had he gone to the wrong house? No, Francis had definitely said 927 – if anyone knew where Arthur was residing it would be his childhood friend (whom he also didn’t seem to get along with. Who knew Arthur had such a thing for love-hate relationships?)

The three men did their best attempt to glare down at him, despite only one – the one with the reddest hair – matching his height

“Finally,” the tallest said, grabbing Alfred by the lapels of his blazer and pulling him inside. “You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting for ye, laddie!”

They dragged him through the house before shoving him into a leather armchair. From what Al could see, they differed in hair colour (quite comically growing less and less ginger) but brandished identical eyebrows – the very ones that marked Arthur’s own face. Perhaps this was some sort of fucked up club?

“Uhm, is Arthur here?” That’s right, he was here on a particular mission today, and he’ll be damned if he wasn’t able to go through with it. “I kinda wanted to talk to him about something.”

“Oh, we know,” the middle one said. He seemed to have a drastically different accent to the one who spoke before him, not really helping ease the confusion. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you about.”

The third sort of just stood there, glowering silently. Alfred knew he could easily fight his way out if he wanted to, but it seemed pretty unnecessary considering they weren’t really doing anything harmful. They just sort of… huddled, muttering something amongst themselves and occasionally shooting Alfred a particularly dirty look.

“It fucking stinks down there. Who’s the poor soul you roped into your stupid plan now?” A disembodied voice asked. Footsteps creaked closer as the three alphas straightened themselves, turning to face the open door of the living room. “If it’s another fucking dominos boy, I’ll never forgive you. You know you’ve already scarred one of them into never coming here again—"

Arthur appeared around the corner, a flash of shock overtaking his expression. “Alfred? What are you… Alistair, you guys are just being ridiculous now.”

“Aha! So, this _is_ the Alfred!” Alistair (Alfred assumed) said. 

“ _The_ Alfred?”

“Don’t get too big-headed. These twats are just down to their final brain cell.” Arthur rolled his eyes, approaching to create a one-man wall between the American and the other three. “They’ve been waiting for you.”

“For-For me? How did they know I was coming over?” This just got weirder and weirder each second.

“They didn’t. They’ve been at this for a month, traumatising practically every postman and deliveroo worker that’s come to our door.” He looked at Alfred with a small tilt to his head. “Why are you here anyway?”

“That’s what we were wondering too,” said the middle one.

“Bugger off, Seamus.” The omega hissed, his face souring once again.

Alfred shuffled under the four sets of eyes, pathetically lifting the slightly rumpled flowers. “These are for you. I go them for you because… well, because I was wondering if you’d like to be my boyfriend.”

Arthur scoffed, scanning him for a few seconds before realising he was completely serious. His hands hovered tentatively before quietly accepting. A small blush scattered amongst his pale cheeks, highlighting freckles Alfred had never noticed before.

Before he could answer him, Alistair had yanked the present out of his hand, crushing them slightly. Arthur let out a strangled shriek and lunged at him, only to be held back by the other two. A protective instinct tugged at Alfred, his body moving to separate the fighting group. He towered over the man of his affections and caged him in his arms, pheromones no doubt screaming at the others to get away. They didn’t, however, retorting only in guttural sounds and their own army of ‘get away’.

“Would you knobheads calm the fuck down?!” Arthur snapped, wriggling away from Alfred’s grip. Threats of death glimmered amongst the sea of green, rendering the alphas strangely docile. “God, I’m practically drowning here!”

The brit massaged his forehead, a vein pulsing against his fingers. They watched at his chest slowed to a calm, brows slowly unknitting. “Alfred, these are my idiot brothers; Alistair, Seamus, and Rhys.”

‘ _Brothers_ ,’ Alfred thought. ‘ _Yeah, that makes a lot of sense actually_.’

“Wait. Why do you all speak differently?”

“Mother got around,” Rhys said, finally verbally contributing. It somehow makes the guy more unsettling than he already was.

“Right.” Alfred thought it was best not to pry. He didn’t really know what he meant by that, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. “And how come you all seem to know me?”

Arthur huffed bitterly, lifting his eyes from the ground to shoot daggers at his brothers. “They’ve been questioning me non-stop about you ever since I came home late that one time.”

“Home late _and_ stinking of alpha.” Alistair pointed out. He was right; Arthur had been in Alfred’s pathetic sized dorm all night, so his scent must have stuck to him. The Scot held up the beaten bouquet for all to see. “And look at this! Now that _same_ alpha has brought our baby brother some flowers.”

“And _roses_ as well? Could you be any more cliché?” Seamus piped up, Rhys only nodding in agreement next to him.

Alfred steamed, exasperated. He had worked _hard_ on trying to nail every aspect of this, they could go fuck themselves. For example, he knew for a _fact_ that Arthur was fond of roses because of all the rose-themed stationary he carries; there was even a small rose embroidered onto his favourite sweater vest – or at least, Al assumed it was his favourite since it was the one he wore most.

(There was also the fact that when Arthur was in a particularly good mood, he had the underlying hint of rose intertwined within his usual smells).

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t like them because they’re not for you,” he snapped.

They laughed at that, only pissing the American off more.

“He’s right,” Arthur said. “They’re for me, and I would like very much if you were to return them,”

He held his hand out expectantly, doing his best to maintain a stern look towards his eldest brother. Alistair only smirked, dropping the flowers and stomping on them. Arthur’s outstretched hand curled into a fist.

“You fucker—”

“You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Arthur.” Alistair sized himself up against the smaller, the latter in question physically faltering at the sudden assertive action. “With mum gone, I’m your legal guardian, and I say what’s what.”

Alfred later came to find out that Arthur’s mother had died just as the omega had entered his first year of high school. He had been stuck with a lose-lose ultimatum: find a relative to stay with (none of which on his mother’s side he was still in contact with – like Rhys had said, she got around, and that doesn’t sit well with a conservative crowd – and he hadn’t even known who his father was) or be sent to live with strangers.

The second option had almost come into play but Alistair – fresh out of Uni at the time and familiar to Arthur from the occasional visits he and his mother made to Scotland – dropped everything to move to England and take on the role as his guardian when his father had refused to raise a child that wasn’t his. His other two brothers, Seamus and Rhys, weren’t far in age from Alistair and so, when they graduated one after the other, they had moved in too to help take care of their youngest and only omega brother.

In contrast to Arthur, all three of them had had a fairly traditional upbringing, therefore learning the ‘proper structure’ of their (sometimes dubious) Alpha-Beta-Omega society. Sure, they weren’t as strict as their fathers, but they were still a bit stuck in their ways.

Hence why now – much to Alfred’s discontent – they had been attempting to drive a wrench into what could’ve been a wonderful whirlwind romance.

“There are things that need to be done a certain way, so we know he’s the right alpha for you,” Seamus tried to reason. Following Alistair’s assertion, Arthur had sunk onto the sofa and pouted. It was quite jarring to Alfred – this was a complete 180 to the brit’s usual temperament; he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him back down like this before.

“You’re our littlest brother,” Alistair said. “We just want what’s best for ye.”

“I’m eighteen,” Arthur tried, emeralds glistening despite his tough-boy act. “I’m adult enough to make my own decisions.”

“Oh, and that makes you an adult does it? Because at eighteen, I was completely out of my fucking depth and I had to live on my own!” Alistair chuckled. Arthur’s face reddened more, the salt in his eyes truly betraying him. “Look, Art, we’re not trying to keep ye from being happy. We’ve all been eighteen before; we’ve all been where you are now – but we don’t want you to make the same mistakes we did, because… well, because they hurt, and we don’t want that on you.”

Rhys lowered himself to sit beside him, passing him a handkerchief. “We just want to make sure that the both of you”—he made a point to glance at both him and Alfred— “don’t rush into things. You don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

“I mean, c’mon Artie. You used to bitch about this guy all the time to us, and suddenly, you were ready to be his?” Seamus said.

Alfred pondered on their words for a moment, examining each point in his head. He supposed they had truth in them; both of them were still quite young (really, how is an eighteen/nineteen-year-old an adult?) and perhaps going from enemies to lovers in a blink of an eye was too hasty.

Despite that, it didn’t stop his feelings. It didn’t stop the incessant need to constantly be around the omega; to hold him close and promise him the world. Alfred knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was for Arthur to (eventually) be his.

“If I may,” Alfred said, carefully approaching the group from his position outside the ‘comfort Arthur’ circle. “I-I can see where you guys are coming from, but I promise what I feel is genuine. I don’t want to hurt your brother in any way – quite the opposite actually!”

They squinted their eyes at that. Alfred flinched slightly at his choice of words but tried to not let it deter him.

“What I’m trying to say is… if you want me to court Arthur, then I’ll do it. I’ll court him for a few months – a-a year – hell, _ten_ years! If it’ll prove my love for him, then I’ll do it. Just please, _please_ give me a chance?”

The Kirklands had seemed taken aback, each of them struggling for words to say. The alphas held a silent meeting that consisted mostly of vague eyebrow movements and intense staring. They couldn’t seem to come to an agreement…

… that is, until they saw Arthur positively melting at Alfred’s sentiment.

“Alright,” Alistair sighed, holding out his hand for the American to shake upon. “We’ll give ye a chance.”

Alfred shook enthusiastically, almost taking the redhead’s arm off. The Scot seemed amused, though, so that was alright. “I promise I won’t disappoint you! You’ll see, I’m the perfect mate for your brother!”

“Is no one going to ask what about what _I_ want?” Arthur said. “I appreciate you guys wanting to _protect my virtue_ or some shit, but this is still my life we’re talking about.”

Ah, there’s the cynical bastard who’s dead set on breaking role stereotypes Alfred grew to love.

“ _Please_.” Seamus sneered. “A blind beta with a broken nose could tell what you want.”

Arthur glared in response.

“Fine. Arthur, do you want this yank to court you or not?”

“I…” the omega slumped in defeat before quietly murmuring a small ‘yes’.

Alfred couldn’t help it; he pulled the brit to his feet and swung him around, joy spilling and seeping everywhere. The Kirkland Brothers coughed disapprovingly, Rhys in particular shaking his head at the alpha.

He laughed weakly, putting the man down with a shaky grin.

Maybe winning their approval wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> to be honest, im not completely satisfied with how this turned out, but i dont wanna just abandon it. i might add more to the story (maybe) but it's unlikely tbh
> 
> please someone stop me from writing at ungodly hours, lest i make more shitposts like this
> 
> thank you for reading


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